Looking for a Phrase
by LadysMaid
Summary: Jimmy and Thomas decide to make up and get a little caught up. Episodes of their growing friendship between S3 Christmas Special and S4. Hurt/Fluff, rated M for future shenanigans.
1. Chapter 1

Thomas carefully dabbed his face dry with a cloth and pulled up his braces. His face was sore, but it was manageable. The swelling had gone down a lot since the night before. It looked worse than it felt. He looked at himself in the mirror longer than usual, inspecting the scabs and bruises. A careful smile took shape around his lips. Thomas decided that he looked rather menacing. Now Alfred would definitely leave him alone. Plus, he'd always liked the look of some fine, white scars on an otherwise smooth face. It added to the mystery.

The family had been in Duneagle for days. Thomas hadn't really kept count. He had been wandering around the house, 'keeping an eye on things', as he liked to call it. He'd mainly been looking at artwork and furniture, and decided it might be time to pick a book from the massive library. He didn't often get the chance to read. Usually it was too dark and his eyes were too tired at the end of the day. He knew he was a little shortsighted and he probably needed spectacles to help with his sight, but vanity always took over. As long as he could do his job right and enjoy pretty little things, he wasn't about to tell anyone.

All dressed now, he made his way down the stairs. Daisy was clearing the breakfast table, only his plate still in position.

"Oh, Thomas! I was just about to bring a tray up after I finished this. How are you feeling today?" Her eyes were big and round as usual, and for moment he wondered if she had trouble seeing as well. He then decided the eyes went hand in hand with Daisy's character. Perfectly honest and always in awe of everyone but herself. "I'll get you some hot water straight away." She hustled to put all the dishes on a tray as Thomas sat down at the long table.

"Don't worry, Daisy. I have time," he hummed with a smile. He liked to look menacing, but it was hard to scare Daisy without feeling like a total twat. His chest tightened at the memory of talking her into lying. She shot him a quick smile and picked up the tray to take into the kitchen. Ivy ran a damp cloth over the wood.  
>Thomas lit a cigarette and absentmindedly whipped the newspaper open on the empty table. Much easier than sitting elbow to elbow, he noted. Right after he took a long drag from his cigarette, warming his lungs, Daisy came in with a tall brown teapot. She carefully poured him a cup.<p>

"Thanks, Daisy. I'll bring you my plate and cup when I'm finished. I'm sure Mr Carson wants to use the table for silverware as soon as possible."

She nodded. He gave her another smile before she darted away. He noticed she was wearing a dark dress and wondered when she'd started doing that. He made a mental note to say something nice about it later on. He put his cigarette down on the edge of his ashtray and took a spoonful of porridge. It was lukewarm and stodgy. Four spoonfuls in, he decided that he'd wait until lunch. Thomas folded his newspaper and finished his cup of tea, scolding his tongue on the freshly made brew. He then loaded the cup on his half empty plate and put his cigarette back between his lips.

Daisy was washing off the plates.

"The black makes you look like a real business woman, Daisy. Will you be going to the farm again anytime soon?" She stared at him for a while until Mrs Patmore interfered.

"Thomas, what do you want from her? Leave her to her work. The family will be home for dinner and we have enough on our hands." She didn't even turn away from her stove to look at him. It made him smile, even though it hurt a little that he'd built up this reputation of always having a plan in the back of his mind.

"Of course you look radiant as ever, Mrs Patmore!" Thomas said before he left the kitchen. She was a a genuinely nice woman and had never judged him for his… defect. He heard something along the lines of _'did they finally beat some kindness in him'_ as he walked up the stairs.

Alfred pushed past him with an almost overflowing tray of silverware. He had a disgusted crinkle in his nose when their arms touched. Come to think of it, his mouth was always turned down in disgust when he saw Thomas. Jimmy followed suit, but smiled before continuing to watch his step as not to break any of the valuables before he had the chance to clean them. His hair fell onto his forehead as he looked down. Carson had insisted Thomas was foul for feeling attracted to the young footman, yet he allowed _him_ to let his hair down like this _every single day_. Thomas had kept count. Thomas remembered a time when Carson had repeatedly called him in his office for two strands of black hair that didn't want to stay put the whole day. He'd now made it a habit to comb more pomade into his hair after lunch.

In the hallway he greeted Mrs Hughes. She had been storing Lady Mary's summer dresses in boxes to bring to the attic for the past two days. It was the end of September, so it was high time for heavier fabrics and coats again. The women had a mind-boggling amount of clothing.

Thomas found Isis in the library. Branson had gone out on the estate again. She sat up when he came in, ears perked. The dog loved him. He gave her a quick scratch between her ears and then began scanning the endless titles on the bookshelves. He knew very little about books. On the far left of the shelf at waist height, there was a horizontal stack of books. Those must have been the new prints Lady Edith had brought from her last visit to London. There were two very thick books, and one slightly slimmer one. Blue, with gold boning. He cocked his head to the side to read 'NIGHT AND DAY' and under the next bone 'VIRGINIA WOOLF'. The next two books had men's names on them. He grabbed the one on top and inspected it. The pages were gilt. Opening it up, he noticed the marbling on the first sheet of paper.

He pondered for a moment. This was an expensive, new book. But then again, Lady Edith had told him everyone was allowed to use the library as much as they desired. He now weirdly desired this particular book. He put it under his arm, cringing a little when he was abruptly reminded of all the tendons from his elbow to his shoulder. On his Lordship's desk, he found a sheet of paper which he folded in half. With pencil, he copied the title and author from the book, and added the date. He scribbled his name underneath and pulled a line under it. He went over it once more in his mind, but decided Lady Edith still had those other two books she could start on. He would start on this one. He placed his note on the now shorter stack of new purchases and darted out of the library.

Thomas usually liked female writers. He'd thoroughly enjoyed all the Brontë sisters' work, as well as this old political novel by Mary Wollstonecraft Sybil had given him one year for Christmas. But maybe that was because she had given it, and had carefully written _'From Sybil to Thomas. Christmas 1916.'_ on the first empty page. He kept it in his nightstand.

Downstairs, Jimmy and Alfred were polishing the already shiny silver.

"Mr Carson, honestly. How many times can you make them polish all the silver before they polish _through_ it?" Mr Carson sat at the head of the table, one eye on his footmen and one eye on the newspaper in front of him. He barely looked up, raising only an eyebrow.

"Don't you have anything useful to do, Mr Barrow? You seem to be in good shape again today," he mumbled. Alfred snorted.

"I can walk and talk, but I'm still very sore, thank you Mr Carson," Thomas retorted. He sat down at the other end of the table and put the book down. He opened the cover, careful not to break the back. There was a title page, and on the back of it, it read 'TO VANESSA BELL BUT, LOOKING FOR A PHRASE, I FOUND NONE TO STAND BESIDE YOUR NAME'. Thomas smiled. He loved it when there was something so personal to a book. It immediately made him wonder who Vanessa Bell was.

"Maybe, now that you're walking, you could bring His Lordship's summer attire up, and his winter attire down. Mr Bates won't mind you taking over all those steps from him." Thomas sighed, sitting back and closing the book again. "James can help you carry, and in the meantime he can learn where everything goes," Mr Carson added. He looked at Jimmy for some kind of approval. Much to his surprise probably, Jimmy immediately dropped his cloth like it was burning a hole in his hand and got up with a smile.

"Yes, Mr Carson. I'd be glad to help Mr Barrow."

Alfred dropped his cloth as well. "What about all this then?" He gestured at the half-full table of cutlery and serving trays.

"Alfred, you two went through almost every piece of silver in the past week. I'm sure you can manage this last bit on your own," Mr Carson announced curtly. He clearly hadn't forgiven him for making the police show up at the cricket game. Thomas closed his book and stacked it under his arm again as he put his chair back under the table. There was no way he was letting this go. Working with Jimmy, who no longer despised him, and getting at Alfred. Whom he still disliked. He would have more time to read and smoke. Mr Carson would never let him wait on the family with the state his face was in.

Thomas strode up the stairs as fast as his sore legs would allow. Jimmy stayed slightly behind him.

"No one's home, Jimmy. You can take up as much space as you want." Being in service, you quickly learned not to stand in anyone's way, not to take up too much space in rooms or on stairs. You should always be around, but never make your presence obvious. Jimmy smiled and caught up with him, a smile taking over from a frown. His whole posture relaxed, and by the time they reached His Lordship's dressing room, he was joking around. Thomas laughed softly as he opened the closet doors one by one.

"First we can go through his dress shirts. Leave a handful of summer shirts here, for warmer days." He took the first shirt and put it on a chair.

"How do you tell which ones are summer and which aren't? They're _white_." Jimmy looked a little uncomfortable again, his arms straight by his sides. Thomas took a a different pile of shirts and held it out to Jimmy.

"Touch it," he ordered gently. Jimmy looked at him hesitantly, then checked his fingers for dirt before touching the white shirt. He slipped his index finger between two buttons and felt the fabric between his finger and thumb. "Winter shirts," Thomas nodded. He saw Jimmy had no idea what he was supposed to feel. Shaking his head, he put the winter dress shirts on the top shelf. "Should I show you some things a valet should know? Assuming that's what you want to do some day," Thomas suggested. Jimmy seemed to be caught off-guard by the offer.

"Like dressing?"

It was Thomas' turn to be a little surprised. "Sure," he uttered. "You- uhm- you'd lay the clothes out on his bed. And then in the morning, you hand the garments in the right order and do the fiddly things, like buttons and cufflinks."

"Show me," Jimmy insisted.

Thomas wasn't sure what he meant. "On you?"

"On you, then I can try," Jimmy said matter-of-factly.

Thomas blinked a couple of times. He felt his lips part, but nothing came out. He had to remind himself that Jimmy was doing this because they had made up. He had apologized. He had thanked Thomas for taking a beating, basically. Now he wanted to show Thomas that he meant it, that he hadn't just said it because he felt bad. _And that is all, Thomas_. He straightened his livery and cleared his throat.

"Yes, that's true. Then you can try it," he nodded, forcing out a smile. He felt it didn't reach his eyes, but for Jimmy it was enough. The blond man relaxed again, turning to the closet and taking out what seemed to be one of his three-piece suits.

"Does his lordship wear all these clothes at the same time?" He held up the vest.

"No, on Monday he wear just pants and then on Tuesday it's trousers without pants. What do you think?" They laughed. Thomas laughed wholeheartedly, his chest opening. Usually only the warmth of his first cigarette of the day could do that.

"Well then, what are you waiting for? I can hardly put these clothes over yours." Jimmy was waiting with a dress shirt in his hands.

"You should hand me the trousers first," Thomas hinted as he untied his shoes. Jimmy put the shirt back down and took the trousers instead. Thomas wanted to say something about the way he'd discarded the shirt, but smiled instead. He stood in front of the mirror in his underwear and socks, asking himself how he ever could have thought this was a good idea. His pale complexion also didn't help with the blushing.

Jimmy worked him through the pants and the shirt, braces and his vest. Jimmy stuck his tongue out working on the buttons. "'S hard when it's not on yourself," he muttered, more to himself than anything. When he'd finished the buttons, he grabbed a box of cufflinks and offered them to Thomas, beaming. This was easier than he had imagined, and so much nicer than avoiding all eye contact. The cufflinks were completely off. They were much too dressy to be paired with such a simple, grey suit. At least he'd thought about them. Thomas held out his wrists. Jimmy grabbed his hand and inspected it, keeping it much closer to his face than entirely necessary. "How did you do _that_?" There it was again, the disgust. It made Jimmy look ugly, the lines that connected his sweet nose to his beautiful lips turned hard. Thomas looked down at his hands. Some of his nails were split or torn, and his knuckles were pretty much raw. He couldn't bear wearing bandages, not anymore. He should have known better, with his experience. Constantly moving his fingers and bumping into things had kept his knuckles from healing altogether. They were rather sore, now that he thought about it. "You put up a fight, huh," Jimmy huffed.

Again, Thomas failed to muster up an answer. He managed a nod this time though. He didn't regret following Jimmy and taking his spot. He'd do it again in a heartbeat. That didn't mean that it hadn't affected him. It wasn't just the beating, it were the insults as well. He didn't normally care what people thought about him, but finding out that perfect strangers knew he was _that one _from Downton had hit a nerve. He'd only slept a couple of hours. He'd somehow managed to sleep through breakfast though.

"Thomas, are you quite alright?" Jimmy stopped fiddling with the cufflinks. Thomas nodded again. His lifted hand trembled. "No, you're not. You're as pale as a sheet. God, I'm sorry, I just thought this was a really good opportunity to learn." Jimmy shook his head an immediately took the cufflinks off again, putting them in the box. He stripped Thomas of the garments he'd put him in moments before and put them back in the closet.

Thomas found his smile back as he put his livery on. Not many people had made such a fuss about his well-being. He was also quite proud of how Jimmy had managed to put the clothes back.

Thomas left the room with his book. Jimmy held the door open for him. They headed downstairs, only to find Alfred and Mr Carson right where they left them.

"That was quick," Carson remarked.

"Tho- Mr Barrow is not feeling well, Mr Carson," Jimmy announced before Thomas had even made it through the door. Mr Carson raised one bushy brow, only to find Thomas looking at the floor. Thomas knew that this wasn't like him, to let other people talk in his place. Carson knew it too. That was the only way to explain why he immediately agreed to let Thomas get up to his room. Jimmy's eyes followed him up the stairs, making sure he was taking orders for once.

Upstairs, Thomas settled on his bed in his undershirt, and put his book on the nightstand. He closed his eyes and sighed. This could have been a nice day. He had someone to talk to again, and they had time to talk. He just felt so drowsy.

Thomas couldn't remember if he'd nodded off, but the soft knock on his door startled him. The door pushed open slowly, Jimmy coming backwards. The big tray explained why.

"I thought I'd bring your lunch up," he said, his voice soft. Thomas grabbed his book to make room. Jimmy set the tray down. "Mrs Hughes gave me this." He held up a tub of ointment. "She thinks you may be running a fever, from the shock." He twisted the cap off and gave the white goo a sniff. His nostrils flared. A chuckle escaped Thomas' throat. "You gave me a scare, you know. You were shaking like a leaf, thought I would have to catch you there," Jimmy joked. Thomas reached in the tub and dabbed a thick layer of cream over his hands, resting them on his thighs when he was finished. To his surprise, Jimmy didn't leave once he'd screwed the lid back on. Instead, he grabbed a chair and sat down next to his bed.

"I'm fine." Thomas smiled, feeling much more like himself again. He caught Jimmy staring at his hand. It must have been the first time he saw it without the glove. Thomas felt the urge to cover it up. He sat up, feeling a little uncomfortable with the other man's eyes on him. He couldn't put his hands together, because of the white goop on them. Instead, he put his injured hand on the side of his thigh, out of sight. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered. "I really hate that glove - with a passion." Jimmy shook his head and held the palm of his right hand up. Thomas stared.

"Show me," Jimmy chuckled. "I'm not asking you to hold hands, don't worry." Reluctantly, Thomas held out his hand, catching himself still shaking a little. Jimmy carefully took his fingers as he'd done before, and inspected the raised skin. "It's not so bad," he then decided. "Look how light the outside is already."

Thomas huffed and brought his hand back to safety. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a damn hole in your hand," he hissed, probably coming across harsher than he'd intended. Looking at his hand now, he saw that Jimmy was right. With the way he was covering up all the time, everyone downstairs probably suspected he was missing a piece or something. There was a deep, round scar, but the edges had faded significantly now that he looked at it objectively.

"Could have been a lot worse," Jimmy hummed. Thomas recognized himself in the way Jimmy talked. Barely moving his lips, very little emotion in his voice. It was never the tone that did it, always the volume. "Could've been your head," he then added, his voice almost reduced to a whisper. "That would have been a bloody shame, Mr Barrow."

Thomas let out a soft laugh. He had been trying very hard not to see Jimmy like _that_ anymore, but it was hard when he spoke so sincerely. It was the first time in a long time that someone cared whether he was alright or not. Anna and Mrs Hughes would ask every now and again. He didn't want to think badly of them. Jimmy had just _occupied_ himself with making sure he was somewhat comfortable. He smiled as Jimmy got up again.

"I'll leave you now, I should be heading down for lunch anyway." He grabbed the ointment from the nightstand to put back in the first aid kit. "Give us a shout when you need something," Jimmy smiled, putting the chair back under Thomas' little desk. He didn't look at Thomas to see him nod. It was an order, not a question. He opened the door seemed to pause for a moment. "We can talk about the war, some time. If you want." Again, he didn't wait for Thomas' answer. He nodded a last time and quietly closed the door behind him. Thomas sipped his tea again, almost immediately feeling the sugar hit his blood. A couple of days ago, he was about to get the boot, he had no friends, and then he _actually_ got a boot - in his face, amongst other places. He was feeling strangely optimistic now.


	2. Chapter 2

The days were rather dull that autumn. Jimmy felt a little ashamed thinking about it like that, but they were. Ever since Mr Crawley had passed, there was very little to do in the house. The family had gone into full mourning. Even Thomas wore a grieving belt. The shock had been massive, like a silence that washed over the house. No one ate in the dining room anymore. The funeral had been their last public luncheon. Everyone got a tray in their room. Lady Mary's usually came back untouched.

Jimmy hadn't served upstairs in a while. When His Lordship decided to have breakfast, Carson would take care of it. No one asked for much. Jimmy hadn't seen Mary since the funeral. She mostly stayed in her room. Jimmy sometimes thought he could hear her at night.

The accident had left an impression downstairs as well. Mrs Patmore had now completely sworn of all modern appliances.

Jimmy sat next to Thomas at breakfast. He'd felt so relieved that they had made up after Thomas took a beating for him. It was nicer than before the whole kissing incident. He'd always felt so awkward when Thomas got so close to him, not sure what his intentions were. Now he knew. He sat next to Thomas, elbows nudging as they ate. He wished Thomas would talk more. He'd gotten a glimpse of what he was really like, before the horrible news came and he completely shut down again, his lips reduced to a straight line. Jimmy assumed Thomas had been very fond of Mr Crawley. They had a little bit of history together. Jimmy had only known him for a while. He could see that his death was a tragedy, that it was a terribly sad situation, but he couldn't say he was sad. At least not like Thomas.

All the girls had started work already, and Mr Carson was serving breakfast to His Lordship. Alfred was still reading the newspaper. Mornings were slow. There was no real reason for the boys to get up at 6 in the morning, but no one was rotten enough to complain. There were worse things. Jimmy looked down in his teacup. It had been empty for a while. There was no noteworthy sound from Thomas this morning, so he decided to find something useful to do.

He didn't have to go far. As he set his cup and saucer down in the kitchen, Mrs Patmore appeared with a folded piece of paper in her hand.

"Ah, Jimmy. Could you be a darling and head into Thirsk for these?" She handed him the note. There were about ten items listed, and Jimmy recognised some of them as spices. He nodded, trying to identify the other things. "They're just some things I need restocking on," she explained. Everyone was looking for things to do. There were no elaborate dinner parties. Instead, Mrs Patmore had tried out a new pastry or cake every evening for the servants. To keep the spirits up, Jimmy assumed. Now she'd apparently gone through the pantry.

"Could I ask Thomas to come? To help carrying," he asked.

"By all means," she sighed.

He wouldn't need any help, they both knew that. Jimmy thought the walk might do them good. He gave her a thankful smile and grabbed his coat in the hallway.

"Thomas? Mrs Patmore wants us to run some errands for her," he announced. He placed his cap on his head, pushing back the few strands of hair that always escaped him. Thomas got up and left the room with his cup of tea, ignoring Alfred's protests. Jimmy couldn't blame him though, they all needed some time off.

"I think he needs it more than you," Jimmy offered to his red-headed colleague.

"Why are you siding with him now?" Things were always black and white for him. It must be a simpler life, Jimmy thought.

"Because I think he can use some fresh air," Jimmy said, basically repeating himself.

"Well, let's have it then." Thomas stood behind him, coat on and a black hat meticulously placed over his neatly combed hair. He strode out the door, leaving it open for Jimmy. Jimmy followed, finding him lighting a cigarette outside. He took a long drag, then blowing out what seemed to be an impossibly large and dense cloud of smoke.

They'd walked off the estate in complete silence, Thomas' cigarette hanging on the side of his lips. Jimmy wanted to ask for one, but thought he should find some other way to break the silence first. He just wanted to talk.

"You can tell me about the war," Jimmy offered. The other man raised an eyebrow. For anyone not inside Jimmy's mind, that must have come across as completely out of the blue.

"I was in France with Mr Matthew," Thomas sighed, complying to Jimmy's feeble attempt at a conversation. "Can't blame you for not moving to France with Lady Whatshername," he added laconically. Jimmy smiled. He hadn't thought of Thomas as someone who'd remember details like that. He didn't respond immediately, making Thomas take over again. "We were at the Somme, and it was dreadful," he said shortly, tossing the end of his cigarette and grabbing a new one straight away. He offered Jimmy one.

"Did you work together a lot?" Jimmy couldn't find the right formulation.

"Well, I was only a medic, but we came across each other a couple times, yeah." Jimmy noticed his jaw clenching. There was an advantage in being a little on the short side after all. He'd hit a nerve. He wasn't sure it was the right one though. "Do you want to hear me say he was a brave man?" It was a snap. Jimmy was taken aback for a moment, but was actually quite relieved there was finally some emotion again. "He came to me the night I… The night I _left_," he decided. It seemed like a weird way to word it. "_I _left, _he_ got shelled fighting for his country, lived, and then he goes like this," Thomas rattled. His lip curled up a little. Jimmy blew out some smoke.

"You were wounded though, and it's not your fault he got hurt," Jimmy thought aloud. Thomas' thinking seemed illogical. Jimmy never thought about life in terms of fate.

Thomas had stopped walking. He took his cigarette from his lips and looked at Jimmy. Jimmy was a little puzzled at why they'd stopped walking and why Thomas' eyes had been reduced to narrow slits.

"Jimmy, for once in your life, use your head," he spat the words out, tapping his own temple with a gloved finger. "Have you ever come across another man with a _battle wound_ like mine?" He shook his head to emphasise the words ' battle wound'. "I was scared, and cold, and sick and tired of sitting in the mud, waiting to die. I let myself get shot so I could come home," he spat. Jimmy opened but then closed his mouth again. He guessed on some level he already knew this. No one ever talked about it downstairs. "They should have shot me on the spot, Jimmy. I deserved it," he concluded.

Jimmy swallowed. So this was what had upset him so much. That a war hero went off the road with his car and died on the spot, and he, a coward in his own mind, had gotten away. There was no correlation though. But Jimmy saw that it made sense in his mind. He was already going to hell anyway. Now that Thomas' face relaxed again, he could see his eyes glistening. This grown man, ten years his senior, was about to cry. And worst of all was that it was out of guilt for something he had no control over whatsoever.

"I hope you know that's a bunch of bollocks," Jimmy blurted. It was the best he could do, but it seemed to hit home. Thomas shook his head and rubbed his nose.

"I should have died there, it would have made life easier for a lot of people," he said, determined.

"Oh yeah? Name three," Jimmy challenged.

_"What?"_

"Name three people whose life you've made _so_ difficult."

Thomas sighed, lifting his chin. Jimmy was curious to find out what he would come up with.

"Well there's Carson, and you-"

"No," Jimmy shook his head, closing his eyes. "No, count me out," he interrupted.

"Carson thinks I'm _foul_," Thomas said, ignoring Jimmy's request.

"You were being fired for harassing a footman and somehow you got promoted to underbutler. Don't you think Mr Carson likes you, even a tiny bit?" He'd never heard Mr Carson say Thomas was foul, but it seemed rather harsh, even in those circumstances. Jimmy had come to terms with the fact that Thomas was different. He understood that Thomas had been giving him hints and he hadn't rejected him, following O'Brien's advice. It was an honest mistake. Jimmy still wasn't really able to imagine why any man would prefer men over women. Then again, he also didn't see the appeal of blondes, whereas most men raved about them. Lady Mary would have been his type, had she worked in the kitchen.

Thomas shook him out of his daydream. He had taken a couple of big steps, making Jimmy catch up again. Finally at his side again, he tried to catch the man's eye.

"You're wrong," he decided when that didn't work. Thomas still didn't look at him, but he caught a careful smile. It reached his eyes this time, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones. Jimmy had learned to watch if they did that. It said a lot about the mood he was in.

After dinner, Jimmy found himself at the piano. Mr Carson had complained, but Mrs Hughes had overruled him, again. He played some soft tunes, stopping every few minutes to take a drag from his cigarette that was perched on his ashtray. He felt at home. Somehow this feeling always came to him when winter was closing in. It was nice to sit in the warmth after going through the wind earlier. And it was lovely that everyone had just shut up for once.

A chair screeched over the floor.

„Night, everyone," Thomas announced. Jimmy turned took his cigarette and turned on the stool. He watched as Thomas put his chair back in place, book in hand. He seemed to be glued to those things lately. He and Lady Edith had started a sort of private book club. He'd very much enjoyed the book he got when the family was at Duneagle, and Edith kept providing him with other books she thought he might like. Jimmy wasn't much of a book person. He did thoroughly enjoy reading Ivy's magazines though. There were more pictures. Everyone mumbled their goodnight wishes. Jimmy nodded as Thomas left the room.

Jimmy had been reading a magazine when Carson announced bed time for everyone. That is, Alfred, Jimmy and himself. They were the only ones still sat at the table. Jimmy closed stubbed his cigarette out in his ashtray and closed the magazine. He decided to take it upstairs to read some more, Ivy wouldn't mind.

The upper floors were a little draughty, so once Jimmy was in his room, he stuffed an old rag under the door. He stripped down to his pants and hung his blanket over his shoulders as he installed himself on the bed to read some more. In his own little cocoon, the temperature rose quickly, making him dream away after every line he managed to read. Jimmy remembered he hadn't been to the flics in so long. Carson would have told him the house was in mourning, so he hadn't bothered asking. But maybe now that Mrs Hughes had allowed him to play some music, they would be a little more lenient.

An obtuse thud made him look up from his page. He must have been reading for an hour or so, judging by the tingling in his toes. There was no scuffle in the hallway, so he assumed Carson was fast asleep as well. If there were burglars on this floor, they had come to the wrong place. Jimmy decided to go take a look anyway, just to make sure there was no one in their hallway, or in the girls'.

Clutching his blanket safely around his bare shoulders, Jimmy closed the door behind him. He peered into the black hallway. It had gone completely quiet again. When he turned the other way, however, he saw a fine line of light coming from under a doorway. When he stood in front of the door, he determined that there was definitely someone awake in there.

Jimmy slowly opened the door and stuck his head inside. Thomas sat on the side of his bed. There was a big pile of books on the floor next to his nightstand. The man's head snapped up, his eyes almost black in the dimly lit room.

"Did I wake you?" He then asked, sounding much softer that Jimmy had expected.

Jimmy came inside completely and shook his head. "I was reading," he beamed. He held up his magazine from under his blanket. Thomas' eyes flickered down, Jimmy presumed to where his blanket had opened, baring some skin.

"I was just throwing some books around," Thomas explained with a smile. He had a book in hand. Jimmy assumed the pile of books had just fallen off his nightstand. Thomas pulled his legs on the bed and sat against the headboard. "Sit," he offered. Jimmy sat down at the foot of his bed. He was somehow glad Thomas hadn't just kicked him out of the room. They hadn't really spoken after their discussion. Jimmy wouldn't allow them to agree to disagree; Thomas was _wrong_, and he needed to see that.

"What are you doing still up?" Jimmy had calculated it must have been over two hours since Thomas had gone up.

"I don't sleep - much," he admitted. He then shrugged, holding up a book to make clear this is what he did instead. His thumb was wedged somewhere in the middle, so he wouldn't lose his page.

"What are you reading then?" Thomas held the back of the book in his direction. Jimmy squinted at it. The name didn't mean anything to him, so he just nodded. Apparently they'd come to a silent agreement that Jimmy would stay and they would read together. Jimmy didn't object, as this room was significantly warmer than his. The blanket on the window sill explained why. Jimmy crossed his legs and used them to hold his magazine. He read through some advertisements. "_Wash away fat and years of age,_" he read aloud. "They really do sell everything." There was a laugh from Thomas. Short and quiet, but wholehearted. Jimmy smiled and watched him for a moment as the amused wrinkles around his eyes softened again. His eyes darted over the page. Jimmy noticed he almost looked normal. His hair was down. The dark shade on his cheeks and chin covered what scars were left. He still had a small gap in his eyebrow.

As Jimmy went through the pages and commented on the things he saw, Thomas' posture became less and less composed. He went from sitting up to sitting back, his thighs holding the book as his knees bent. Eventually he was on his side, cheekbone resting in his hand. He looked very at ease, Jimmy could tell from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, there's a new Mary Pickford playing in-" Jimmy swallowed his words. Thomas' arm had fallen flat against the mattress, his head now resting in the crook of his elbow. His other hand still held the book. It was almost closed, only the sleeping man's thumb keeping it from falling shut. Jimmy sighed and got up from the bed. He couldn't blame Thomas, his limbs were heavy with sleep as well. Jimmy covered Thomas with the blanket he'd been sitting on the whole time, suddenly feeling a little guilty. He carefully slid the book from Thomas' hand. He was close enough to hear Thomas' slow breathing and see his parted lips. For once, he didn't look controlled. There was no smug pout or scornful eyebrow raise.

Jimmy blew out the candle and made his way out of the room silently. He stood in the pitch black hallway for a moment before heading to his own bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas sat across the table from Jimmy. Jimmy had his eyes cast down, his plump lips quivering. Thomas had to look down at his toast to keep from bursting out in laughter. Jimmy was spreading butter on his toast, and had been doing so for the past seven minutes, Thomas guessed. It didn't help that Jimmy cocked his head from side to side, as if to admire how he'd coated every crumb so well. Thomas sucked his bottom lip in, feeling himself cave. The first snort came from Jimmy though. Within seconds, they were both bellowing with laughter. Carson came in, the usual look of disdain on his face.

He'd told the boys that, after breakfast, they would have to shovel snow outside. By outside, he meant all the way from the front door to the edge of the estate. Half the service had been struck with heavy colds or flu, and Dr Clarkson needed the road free to come and go as he pleased.

"I hope you do realize that it is_freezing_outside, and this snow has all the time in the world," Mr Carson hummed, ignoring their sniggering. "Now if you manage it by luncheon, I might be tempted to give you the rest of the day off," he added, leaving the room after that. Jimmy promptly stopped chewing and dropped his toast. Thomas gulped down the rest of his tepid tea and hurried to he hallway to put on his coat.

It was icy outside, the wind chiming by Thomas' ears, no matter how much he huddled in his scarf. They had managed to do a good piece of the way when Thomas decided it was time for a cigarette break. He shared his packet with Jimmy. He'd been sharing a lot of things with Jimmy lately, though mostly time. They'd made a habit of it to play cards in the evening, and then read together upstairs until bedtime. Thomas found it very soothing. It had gotten a lot easier to sleep. If he couldn't have what he wanted, this was still pretty good. Jimmy perched the cigarette on his bottom lip as he shoved his hands in his pockets to warm. His nose and cheeks were flushed, and Thomas was sure his face had a similar redness. His nearly translucent skin was unforgiving.

"Christ, my lips have gone all numb,"Jimmy muttered, clearly having a hard time keeping the cigarette where it was using just his mouth. Thomas didn't care about his cold hands. His left hand was always a little numb anyway, at least his fingertips were. Hollowing his cheeks, he let the smoke warm him from the inside.

"Why are we doing this again?" Jimmy had been complaining ever since they'd stepped outside. It was still snowing, not like the blizzard they had experienced during the night, but there were still thick flakes falling rapidly. Thomas had shivered all night. During the day, the heat from the rest of the house would rise to the attic, but at night they were the first to get a feel of the cold outside. Thomas had to agree shovelling snow wasn't in their job description.

"Lady Anstruther didn't have as much road in front of her house," Jimmy complained again, peering into what seemed to be endless white. The sky was white as well, only the black trees forming a barrier between earth and sky. Jimmy had caught a snowflake on his eyelashes, but he was past the point of caring.

"D'you regret not going to France with her now?" Thomas had meant it as a joke, but Jimmy seemed to be giving it some actual thought.

"Nah," Jimmy then decided. "It was nice working for her though. She spoiled me a little," Jimmy smiled. "You know how lonely widows can get."

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"No you don't, never mind," Jimmy hurriedly added. He laughed. "You know what I mean though, right? It's nice to have someone like that take care of you." Thomas nodded.

They smoked in silence for a while, until Thomas detected a very particular look on Jimmy's face. One that implied that he was up to no good.

"What about you?" Jimmy had a cheeky smile on his lips, his whole face brightening up.

"What about me?" Thomas asked. He scraped some snow from the gravel under his boots, acting like his nose was bleeding.

"Come on, don't tell me you have no juicy stories at all," Jimmy teased. "No rich suitors?" Thomas flinched. It was the first time Jimmy had addressed his sexuality so very directly. But there was no judgement in his tone. He was still talking to Thomas like the friend he was. Thomas decided he could share with friends.

"There was a duke," he muttered, flicking his cigarette bud in a pile of snow. Jimmy's eyebrows raised.

"_What?_"

"Duke of Crowborough," Thomas clarified, raising his shoulders. It had been years since he'd thought about him, and come to think of it, he'd never told anyone before. It wouldn't sound very plausible. Jimmy huffed.

"I'm really not surprised," Jimmy then concluded, catching Thomas off guard. "When was this?" Thomas shook his head, laughing now.

"When you were only a little boy," Thomas joked, successfully ignoring Jimmy's question. "Now get back to shovelling, I plan on spending my afternoon inside." Thomas turned towards his side of the path they were making in the snow.

They worked with their backs turned to each other. Thomas' mind drifted to that summer in London, and how stupid he'd been. He'd been so very young and naive. A loud snort pulled him back to reality.

"I should have known you were keeping something like this from me," Jimmy almost shouted. He was clearly very excited about this new piece of information he'd uncovered. Thomas had to admit he was always looking for new facts to collect about Jimmy as well. He'd memorised names of actresses he talked about on a regular basis and looked for them in Ivy's magazines. He'd discovered why Jimmy's hair always looked so disheveled. After they'd gotten caught in a rain storm, Thomas' hair had only been more slicked back against his head. Jimmy's, on the other hand, had gone wild and curly. Jimmy preferred caps over hats, because then he didn't seem as short.

"The Duke of Crowborough," Jimmy then said, mimicking Thomas.

Thomas loaded a heap of sloppy snow on his shovel and flung it over his shoulder, hitting his target. There was a loud shriek.

"That went straight down my back!"

Thomas turned to find Jimmy shivering and twitching, trying to get the melting snow out of his coat.

Mrs Hughes was fuming, pulling the two young men out of their coats as soon as they'd walked through the door.

"Mr Carson!" She shouted, pushing them towards the servants' hall. Mr Carson came in as well, looking slightly alarmed. "What on _earth_ were you thinking sending those boys out there in a snowstorm?" Mr Carson took the drenched twosome in. If Mrs Hughes hadn't realised it wasn't the falling snow that had gotten them this wet, Mr Carson surely had.

"Dr Clarkson needs to be able to reach us," he calmly explained.

"Well he won't have to reach us when you're killing half our staff!" She shook her head and left the room. Thomas suppressed a laugh. He always loved how she rolled her 'r', especially when she was angry. Mr Carson was left a little dazed. Thomas looked at Jimmy, who stood next to him, dripping and shivering. His lips had a slight blue tinge to them.

"Well, get in some warm clothes. You can take up a tray for luncheon, there are not enough healthy people to set a table for," Carson grumbled, failing to muster up the energy to discuss the issue any further.

Thomas was full and satisfied, his hands and feet throbbing pleasantly as they warmed. Jimmy had brought his own pillow as usual, leaning against it at the foot of the bed. His blanket was loosely draped around his shoulders, baring ever so slightly too much skin to Thomas' taste. Their wet clothes hung over a chair, dripping onto the floor every couple of seconds. Jimmy's cheeks were flushed, the soft pink tinge creeping all the way up to his cheekbones and temples. The tip of his nose was red too. He ran a hand through the thick blond curls on his crown and frowned. Thomas chuckled. He shot Thomas a challenging glance.

"So, about that duke," he started, cracking a bright smile as to replace the second part of his question. Thomas sighed.

"What about him?"

"What, when, and mostly _how_?" He crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his right leg over the bed, foot grazing Thomas' bare thigh.

"As I said, it was ages ago. I was in London with the family," he mumbled. It was the first time these words were coming out. He'd been such a fool. "I guess I got a little lost, thinking he could offer me something better." He watched Jimmy's smile fade. "Well, ten years later and I'm still here," Thomas concluded. He batted his eyelids down and swallowed audibly. It was the first time he'd admitted to anyone he'd been hurt in this way.

"Oh. Sorry," Jimmy replied. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in years, he was not alone. Jimmy's foot against his skin reminded him of that, even when he wasn't looking.

"I've got no magazines, Ivy and the girls have them," Jimmy then said, changing the topic. Thomas was grateful, but quickly realised Jimmy meant it as a question. Jimmy wanted to stay, but he needed a _real_ reason.

"I have plenty of books," Thomas then offered. Jimmy sat up a little, waiting for Thomas to hand him one. Thomas picked one of the slimmer ones. It took maybe half a minute, Thomas had just found his page when Jimmy sighed, defeated.

"You read to me," he then ordered. Thomas followed blindly.

Thomas heard himself read quietly, just loud enough for the sound to reach the end of his bed. Jimmy leaned back again, the thin book resting in his left hand. The blanket had slipped of his shoulder, revealing part of his chest and abdomen. Thomas had trouble keeping his line. He would much rather watch the curved corners of Jimmy's mouth, his jaw, his hair; the way he sat there, completely relaxed. Thomas had never seen a more perfect contrapposto, not even on the paintings in London. Jimmy opened one eye to see why Thomas had stopped reading. Thomas promptly looked down again. He now noticed his mouth felt like cotton. Licking his lips in a feeble attempt to make that feeling go away, he continued.

Thomas was very aware of the foot still resting against his thigh. He was sure he was imagining things, but every now and then it felt like the toes caressed the skin right under the edge of his underpants. It made his head twitch, his ears whistle. It took him an inhumane amount of restraint not to toss his book aside and ravage the blond man.

His heartbeat was reduced to a buzz in his ears when Jimmy's toe hooked in the fabric and tugged it softly. Thomas looked over the rim of his book again, only to find that nothing had changed. For a brief moment, he considered kissing him. This is what Jimmy wanted. He was asking for it. He was not imagining the tugging, but maybe it was not as well-meant as he hoped. He had been wrong before. Jimmy was tricking him. After all, he had wanted him gone. Thomas remembered that look of pure disgust all too well. It had been burned in his mind for days, weeks even. Carson would not think twice about firing him, and a repeat would surely mean a phone call to the police as well.

Thomas put down his book and sat up, startling Jimmy a little. He opened his eyes again and smiled, a double set of dimples appearing on his cheeks. His face fell when he saw Thomas'.

"I think you'd better go, Jimmy," Thomas mumbled. Jimmy pulled his legs in at once, sitting up.

"I- what?" His relaxed face had contracted into a frown, and Thomas immediately felt some regret.

"You should go to your own room," Thomas repeated anyway, clenching his jaw. He had to remind himself that he couldn't be sure. He couldn't risk everything.

Jimmy got up and grabbed his pillow, clutching his blanket closer around his neck. He paused for a moment as he held the doorknob. Thomas stayed silent. He caught a glimpse of disappointment before the door closed.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas loved the prospect of a busy day. He took a long drag of his cigarette and looked up from his newspaper. A teapot hovered in front of his face.

"Thanks, I'm alright," he muttered, managing a smile. Jimmy's face fell as he set the pot back down. Thomas felt awful, but he needed to take some distance to look at things more objectively. O'Brien sat across the table from him, following the events unfolding in front of her. He had to admit things were pretty tense between Jimmy and him. She raised an eyebrow, accompanied by her trademark smirk.

"What did you do this time, Mr Barrow?" Thomas snapped to the next page of his newspaper, blowing out some smoke. He gave her a quick glance but decided not to waste too much energy on her anymore.

"He didn't do anything," Jimmy declared, loud enough for the whole table to hear. It sounded more like an accusation than a defence. He put out his cigarette and left the breakfast table without asking for Mr Carson's permission. O'Brien was very amused by all this. Thomas did his best to ignore her, which he had found to be the easiest way to deal with her. He pretended to read his newspaper, while he tried to figure out if Jimmy was annoyed his plan hadn't worked out or if he was actually genuinely disappointed. He wasn't sure which option he preferred.

"So, spit it out," O'Brien pushed.

"Shouldn't you be picking out a black dress or something?" Thomas waved his free fingers towards the door and took another drag from his cigarette.

"Miss O'Brien, go mind your own business. Mr Barrow, I'm sure you'll find there is plenty of work for you as well," Mr Carson interrupted. Thomas folded his newspaper in half and got up, leaving the room in silence. The Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley would be over for tea and later supper. Life was starting up again at Downton, and it was a little bittersweet for Thomas. It felt like had woken up from a long hibernation, filled with lovely dreams. He was very definitely awake now. It had gotten quite cold between him and Jimmy, and he only had himself to blame for it. He'd convinced himself being alone was better, safer for people like him. Jimmy had tried to break down his wall, but he'd resisted.

The morning was slow, but Thomas found things to do. He spent some time in the library. His Lordship had gotten used to Thomas' company in there, and didn't even look up when he came in to return some books. Isis came begging for some petting.

"Did you finish more of them?" Thomas looked up from the shelf, only to see Lord Grantham still sitting with his back towards him.

"Yes, milord," Thomas answered, turning back to the bookshelf. It wasn't polite, but he didn't see the point in talking to someone's neck. "Ji-James and I read a lot these days," he lied. He caught himself talking about Jimmy on any given occasion.

"Is that so? Glad to hear you two have patched things up," he said sincerely.

"Thank you, milord."

Thomas roamed the shelves and pulled out three books. That would keep him busy at night. He was about to leave the room again when Isis whimpered. He turned and scratched between the dog's ears, then patted its neck.

"Isis, don't be such a beggar," His Lordship laughed, finally turning around. "I wanted to take her for a walk but the weather is really not to my liking," he hummed, looking out the window. Everything was coloured a greyish white outside.

"I could take her," Thomas offered. Not that he liked the wet snow more than any other person, but it would mean being alone for at least an hour.

"Would you, Thomas? If it's not too much to ask."

"Of course not," Thomas smiled, holding Isis by her collar. "But I could miss teatime while I'm out," he added hopefully.

"I'm sure James can take over from you, just let Carson know you'll be back in time to change for supper." He got a grateful smile before Lord Grantham turned his back towards him again.

Thomas threw the stick for the umpteenth time and saw the pale dog disappear in a pile of snow. She clearly wasn't cold. Thomas walked slowly, careful not to slip on the frozen path. Every time Isis found her stick, she brought it back, walking by Thomas' leg. The tweed on the side of his calf was soaked from her coat. Thomas looked down as she looked up expectantly. He sighed and grabbed the stick from her again, throwing it down the side of the path. She ran off again, her paws slipping every now and then.

Thomas paused for a moment, taking off both leather gloves and inspecting his fingers. The ones on his left hand had a greyish tinge from the cold. He pinched his fingertips between his nails, inspecting how far the numbness reached. Before he knew it, Isis was back.

"One last time, alright?" He tossed the stick but stayed put himself, watching as she darted off again. He wouldn't mind having as little to worry about as Isis. Lying in front of the fire all day, unable to do or say anything that would anger anyone. Thomas wondered if he'd been a fool again. Maybe Jimmy really just cared.

Thomas arrived back at the library to return the semi-wet dog. He'd tried patting her dry so she wouldn't drip all over the floor. Just as he went to knock on the door, he noticed Jimmy standing outside the drawing room. He'd imagined afternoon tea to be over by now, but apparently the women were still inside. Jimmy had spotted him too, now making his way over to him in confident strides. Thomas sighed.

"Thomas," he began.

"Jimmy, please. Can we talk later?" This 'later' had lasted a couple of days now, and by the looks of it, Jimmy was sick of waiting. The hollows under his eyes were dark, making him look awfully serious. Thomas fleetingly decided he looked endearing.

"Can you please tell me what I've done wrong? Because I'm all out of ideas." His eyes searched Thomas' face for an answer. "I thought you wanted this," he then blurted, making it very clear what his intention had been in Thomas' bed; giving Thomas what he wanted. Thomas swallowed, making the wet dog sit down between his legs.

"We'll talk later, Jimmy. You should get back, teatime will be over in a minute," Thomas hummed, peering over the shorter man's shoulder. This was not the best place to be discussing this.

"_I_ want this," Jimmy then articulated, stepping in closer and placing a firm hand on Thomas' chest, as if to pull him back into the conversation. It worked. He processed the three syllables, staring at Jimmy as he did so. Thomas had to suppress a smile. This was one of the things he'd fallen for. This touch of arrogance in everything he said. Thomas parted his lips to say something, but jumped at the sound of a door opening. He grabbed Jimmy's wrist and swung him to the side. The Dowager Countess came down the hallway with a smirk on her face.

"I may be a little older, Mr Barrow, but I have terrific eyesight," she chimed, her head bobbing as she spoke. She gave Jimmy a once-over and then smiled at Thomas, as if to congratulate him. She was beaming, seemingly very pleased at this new piece of information she could add to her collection. Thomas let go of Jimmy's wrist as the rest of the family trickled into the hallway.

Supper was less tedious than usual. Thomas was used to zoning out at the conversations the family held at supper. Only very rarely was there something worth remembering and gossiping about downstairs. Today, like every day, he stood with one hand on his back, chest inflated and chin up, Jimmy across the table from him. Not like every day, Jimmy didn't have his chin up. His twinkling eyes were cast down, his smirk turned up. Thomas pursed his lips, over and over, hoping it wouldn't turn into a grin. That would raise questions around the table. He felt giddy. His whole chest felt light.

"Thomas," Mrs Crawley then said, being the first person to address him all evening. "It's truly lovely to see you've recovered so well." Half the table turned around to take a good look at him. Thomas smiled and nodded politely, and everyone went back to their dessert. Thomas willed them to eat faster. He craved his private time.

Thomas trotted down the stairs after supper, taking the steps two at a time. He heard Jimmy follow, and walked out of the back door without turning to look. Jimmy caught it, and closed it behind him. Thomas lit a cigarette, shaking his head as he finally let a triumphant grin grow on his face. He shot a glance at Jimmy, only to see a similar expression.

"So what changed your mind?" He questioned. There was a short silence.

"You did," then came.

"How's that?"

"You know, I was in shock when you- you know. Suddenly Alfred was there and I got so angry, and I'm sorry," Jimmy rambled. He accepted a cigarette from Thomas. "Everyone was saying how you were vile, and it was against God, and I just-"

"You just what?" Thomas wasn't sure where this was going, but so far it didn't sound great. He suddenly realised he was nervous. The lightness in his ribcage had turned into a sickly feeling.

"I just think that's a silly argument to condemn you," Jimmy stated very clearly. That sounded better. "Gossiping, or lying, or - you know what I mean? I've done all those things." He shot Thomas a hopeful glance that he did indeed know what he meant.

"So you thought, since you're on your way down anyway, you might as well take on some more sin," Thomas snorted.

"You're not hurting anyone by _loving_ them, Thomas" Jimmy then said determinedly, making more sense in one sentence than he had in his whole speech. Thomas was left a little dumbstruck, instead taking a long drag from his cigarette again. No one had ever worded it so simply. Though there was a slight quiver in Jimmy's voice, he seemed solemn.

"But you're not-" Thomas waved the hand he held his cigarette with.

"I could be," Jimmy shrugged. "I've never had to think about it before now." Thomas wished he was as free-minded as the young man standing next to him; both feet on the ground, shrugging something off that Thomas had seen as a condemnation his whole life. He'd tried to shrug it off so many times, but this was who he was.

"I just-," another sigh escaped him, a white cloud forming.

"Mr. Barrow, I like you. You're good to me," Jimmy said. The official address startled Thomas a little.

"I don't want you to think you have to do this for me," Thomas formulated. He'd taken up so much of Jimmy's time. He wondered if he'd just blurred the young man's view. Life could get very lonely as a footman.

"You don't understand. I _like_ you," Jimmy repeated. "You are always so good to me," he blurted. Thomas flinched. "Even when I didn't deserve it. You were honest and patient when I wasn't. I wanted to punch you and you offered to be my friend." A short silence fell as Jimmy smoked and stared into the black yard. "I mean, I'm so comfortable with you," he then added when still nothing came from Thomas.

"Me too," Thomas then hummed. He willed himself to be stronger, but to no avail. It didn't happen often that someone professed such appreciation for him, let alone someone whose opinion mattered so much to him. The giddy feeling returned, now that he realised this was Jimmy offering himself to him. Jimmy's shoulders relaxed. "Let's get some food inside us," he then suggested, softly placing three fingers on the small of Jimmy's back, as if to guide him back to the door. Jimmy let him. It was the smallest of touches, but for Thomas it was enough. He'd been so careful never to initiate, never to touch Jimmy after he told him he didn't want it. His fingers had ached for months. They were warm now, as they brushed past Jimmy's tails.

They came back inside to a filled table. The two spots next to Mr Carson at the head of the table were still free. They both took a seat under close watch of Miss O'Brien. Jimmy kept his head down again, Thomas reckoned to hide the blush on the apples of his cheeks. It hadn't been visible under the night sky, but it was more than obvious now. Thomas scooped some rice on his plate. He noticed Carson was giving him a raised eyebrow again, so he answered him with a smile.

"What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until after supper?" O'Brien asked, nosy as ever.

"That's none of your business," Jimmy snapped. Thomas loved it when he did that. He was so glad that woman was no longer able to drive a wedge between them.

"We had a little bit of a falling out, so we talked it over," Thomas explained calmly, shooting her one of his nicest forced smiles. He knew no one ever had a retort on one of those. They ate in relative silence.

After supper, Jimmy got out a deck of cards, immediately getting a complaint from Daisy.

"Aw, Jimmy, play us something first, will you?" She gave Jimmy her brightest smile, dimples in her cheeks. Jimmy sighed and put the cards down again. There was no way he could resist her sweet voice. No one could. Thomas envied Daisy sometimes. Not for the whole business with William, of course. He still felt a pang of shame when he thought about how he'd bullied William. They could have had more valuable time together if it weren't for him. Thomas envied Daisy for her innocence. There was not a corrupt bone in her body, and it shone from her expression. That was something he couldn't say of himself.

Thomas let his head lull back as he listened to the music. He dreamed away. He would take Jimmy upstairs later, and no one would ask any questions. They always read together at night. Thomas felt the corners of his mouth curl up as he exhaled some smoke through his nose. The hairs on his forearms raised. His jaw twitched at the thought of touching Jimmy's bare skin, so lovely and golden compared to his own waxen pallor. Even just brushing his fingers over the back of Jimmy's waistcoat got him warm. This was the part he wasn't nervous about. He'd played it over and over in his head, in different variations. Only to come to the conclusion that anything that included Jimmy and his bed would do.

It startled him when the soft piano suddenly stopped. Jimmy got up and arched his back, frowning as if he had an ache. He was the worst actor Thomas laid eyes on.

"I'm off to bed. Night, everyone," he announced.

"I've got a magazine-" Ivy started before she was cut off.

"No need, I'm reading one of Thomas' books," Jimmy lied. He gave Thomas a smile before he disappeared out of the hall and up the stairs. O'Brien observed him before turning back to Thomas.

"My goodness," she the exclaimed sarcastically. "There's two of them!" Thomas cocked his head from side to side and took another sip of his tea. The heel of his left hand leaned on the table impatiently, the cigarette balancing between his index and forefinger turning into ash slowly, unsmoked. He wondered what was an appropriate amount of time to leave between Jimmy's and his night wishes. He then decided that it didn't matter. Jimmy had made it publicly known that he was only interested in Thomas in a friendly way. Thomas downed the rest of his tea and stubbed his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray.

"Goodnight," he said curtly, before bolting up the stairs.

He was out of breath by the time he reached his door. It was open, so he pushed in. Jimmy sat quietly on his bed, socked feet on the floor, his hands folded in his lap. Thomas smiled and closed the door. He took off his waistcoat and hung it carefully, unlike Jimmy had. His waistcoat and shirt were bundled up on the chair. Thomas unbuttoned his shirt and untucked his undershirt. Jimmy looked up once, for a moment.

"Jimmy? Is something the matter?" Thomas noticed the younger footman wringing his hands.

"I'm nervous," Jimmy then admitted, his shoulders raised. A breathy laugh followed, piercing the tense atmosphere in the room. Jimmy looked up tentatively, his thick hair falling onto his forehead. It took Thomas a while to process.

"Nervous? What do you think I'm going to do?" Jimmy shrugged again. "Sit back. Like we always do," Thomas ordered. Jimmy pulled his legs up and sat back against the headboard. Thomas lit the candle on his nightstand and switched off the lights before he sat back as well. He didn't demonise electricity like Mrs Patmore did, but in the evening he preferred to go without it. It reminded him of home.

He noticed Jimmy letting out a ragged breath as he shoved in closer, careful not to fall off the narrow cot.

"Hey," he whispered. "We're just talking, alright? Like we always do," he reassured. He was unable to keep himself from placing a hand on Jimmy's forearm. Again, Jimmy let him. He was careful not to overstep his boundaries, not quite yet.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy then started. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much." Thomas shook his head.

"It's alright-" Thomas started, but evidently Jimmy wasn't finished yet.

"No, I did. I saw," he insisted. "You think you're good at hiding everything behind that cocky expression, but you're not." Thomas decided not to interrupt this time. Jimmy was right. "Your left eye is bigger than the other, especially when you haven't slept. Your chin always snaps back a little when you have no retort,"Jimmy summed up, proving that he did pay attention. He proved that he cared. Thomas let his eyes flicker between Jimmy's eyes and his mouth as he listened, carefully taking in how his lips moved as he spoke. He'd never been able to observe them this closely. "You worry about your hand. You pinch your fingers to see if you still feel."

Thomas felt himself tuck his chin in, defeated. He was in no place to argue with Jimmy. First of all, he was right. Second of all, Thomas had been too engorged in the curve of Jimmy's upper lip to muster up a quirky retort.

"_You can_," Jimmy muttered. His voice had gotten so low it trembled in Thomas' ears. He let his eyes drift down to Thomas' lips invitingly. Thomas let the two words mull in his head for an instant, but then concluded they could only mean what he thought they meant. He leaned in ever so slightly, finding Jimmy halfway. His heart raced. The sound of blood pumping was the only thing he heard, apart from a stuttered breath Jimmy dragged in. He let his lips brush only Jimmy's bottom lip first, his eyelids fluttering shut. He was sure this time. No nervous knots in his stomach anymore. It was a comfortable rush, enhanced even more when Jimmy tilted his head up, into his kiss. Thomas cupped the blond man's cheek in his hand, feeling the soft curve of his jaw. This, Jimmy was not nervous about. He was eager, taking over as Thomas lost his fingers in the thick blond curls. Thomas felt Jimmy clutch at the opening of his undershirt, thumbing the buttons. Jimmy licked past his lips. It was one of those kisses he felt rush through his entire body. He'd only experienced those a handful of times. This one made him unable to remember what the others had been though.

Jimmy pulled back, gasping for air. He looked more beautiful now than ever. His tousled hair fell over his brow. His eyes were glazed over and his lips plump and parted. They formed a warm smile. Jimmy buried his face into the crook of Thomas' neck, where it fit perfectly. This was enough, for now.


	5. Chapter 5

Jimmy smiled absently as he let Thomas pour his tea. They had fallen into a rhythm, like a well-oiled machine. As soon as his cup was filled, Jimmy picked it up, his elbow high. This had been how his mother held her cup. Jimmy had always thought of her as graceful and kind, and had somehow, unbeknownst to himself, taken over some habits from her. Now that she was gone, they were all the more obvious to him. He'd thought about her a lot, lately. His father too of course, but his mother was always the one who'd made his home _home_. Maybe it was because he'd found a new home now, that he was so reminiscent all of a sudden.

Her 'Golden Boy', that's what his mother would call him when she boasted to the women in their village. It'd always been a little embarrassing, but in a good way. Especially when he was a teenager, he'd nag that he was too old for her to call him that in public. He'd never admit to anyone that he waited up every night for her to go to bed. He'd pretend to be asleep when she came into his room and sat on the side of the bed. She'd trace a cross on his forehead with her thumb, then replace it with a kiss.

Jimmy had to admit he'd only been half asleep when Thomas had come in his room that night. Sleep drunk enough to think he was in his bed at home though. He'd almost smiled when he heard the soft footsteps and felt the slight shift of his mattress. The kiss he'd expected on his forehead had been planted on his lips, dazing him. That was what had woken him up completely. Jimmy gritted his teeth at the thought of what he'd said afterwards. And the terrible frown on Thomas' face.

He ran his thumb over the rim of his cup, feeling the slight imperfections in the thin china. Watching as Thomas read his newspaper, like every morning. His right hand inattentively tapping ash into his ashtray. As he put the cigarette back to his lips, his cheeks hollowed, the dark forming a stark contrast to his high cheekbones. Jimmy wondered what Ivy saw in him when _he_ was sitting just across the table. Compared to Thomas, his face was more like -_ a blob_, he decided. Jimmy wrinkled his nose at the thought. No definite lines, no features that caught the eye on first look. He guessed the blond hair had something to do with his attraction.

He finally took a sip of his tea as Thomas looked up, probably having felt Jimmy's eyes boring into his skull. Thomas smiled, drinking some tea as well.

"Is your tea alright?" Ivy then asked, making him look up. She seemed concerned.

"Yeah, fine," Jimmy smiled. "Just a little hot," he explained. She was pleased with that answer. Thomas had pointed out to him that life would be easier if he didn't snap at everyone, even though he personally liked his snark. It had gotten easier altogether since O'Brien had kept her nose out of things. She probably suspected something, but had missed her chance.

His Lordship's bell rang, setting Thomas in motion. He was never in a hurry though, annoying Mr Carson. He took a final gulp of tea and combined it with his last drag of smoke. White clouds escaped his nostrils as he snapped his newspaper back in half and set his chair under the table neatly. Bates went to dress His Lordship. That usually gave Thomas about fifteen minutes the set out the breakfast table. It also meant the only time he and Jimmy crossed paths in the morning.

"Smoke?" Jimmy was pulled from his train of thoughts once again. He didn't exactly mind this kind of awakening though. With a determined nod, he got up as well, following Thomas outside. Thomas smoked like a chimney inside, so naturally people would think it was a little suspicious when they disappeared after breakfast every day. O'Brien probably thought she had been replaced as plotting partner. Thomas lit his cigarette in an instant, despite the sharp wind. It made Jimmy narrow his eyes and pull up his shoulders. Should have worn his tails. He accepted a cigarette from Thomas with a soft smile. Thomas stepped in, closing what little distance their was between them. He raised both hands and held them between their faces, cupping the air. Jimmy watched as he hollowed his cheeks, the glowing end of his cigarette lighting up his face from a strange angle. It made him seem more cut out than he already was. Sharp, chiseled. Jimmy lifted his hands to steady Thomas' and sucked as he pressed the unlit end of his cigarette against the bright orange. Thomas had made it a habit to light his cigarettes this way when they were alone. Jimmy approved. It was the first touch of the morning, and Jimmy found Thomas' hands cool and dry, as always. His own hands were always warm, contrary to his feet. They never seemed to warm up properly. Thomas took three short drags before pulling back and blowing out a thick cloud. Jimmy felt his lungs hurt as the first smoke of day burned them. He wondered how Thomas hurt in the morning. It wasn't unusual to be woken by the sound of one of his coughing fits.

"What were you thinking about?" Thomas asked, nodding towards the door. Of course he had noticed Jimmy staring.

"Home," Jimmy replied simply. Thomas' lips pressed together into a narrow line. Jimmy had noticed he always brushed it off when Jimmy talked of home. He assumed because Thomas then felt obliged to talk about his own home, something he didn't particularly enjoy. Jimmy would have to be patient. Thomas tossed his half-smoked cigarette in the gravel and lightly pressed his lips to Jimmy's temple.

"I better get on," he then said and gave Jimmy a gentle smile.

Working with Alfred had improved. Jimmy found that, as long as he didn't have him in the same room as Thomas, they were fine. Alfred couldn't help it. He'd been raised this way, to be conservative. Jimmy had been too, but most of that had gone out the window with his parents' death. Considering who Alfred's family was, he'd actually turned out quite alright. Jimmy smiled to himself as he followed the tall red-haired man down the stairs. He envied his height sometimes. They put the empty breakfast plates in the kitchen. Bates sat at the table in the hall, brushing a hat. It only took a moment for Jimmy to notice Thomas, standing in the corner, apparently waiting. He wasn't sure what it was about him, what always struck him about Thomas. Because he did - strike him. It should have probably embarrassed him, to be so overawed by one of his peers. He didn't care though. He admired Thomas. How he always did everything with such ease. It probably came with experience, but Jimmy couldn't imagine himself ever being so graceful at his work. Then again, he might not last as long in service. But it wasn't just the way he worked. It was the way he walked, moved, smoked. Alfred disappeared into the kitchen, probably to watch Daisy make sauce.

"James," Mr Carson addressed. He sat on his usual chair at the head of the table. "Mr Bates has to go to the cottage before luncheon, so Mr Barrow and yourself can take over his tasks for the morning," he said, rather than asked. Not that Jimmy was about to object.

Jimmy admired the rings on his two hands and wondered if he'd make enough money in a lifetime to be able to afford them. But then again, Lord Grantham had only inherited them as well. Jimmy couldn't remember him actually wearing any of them. Thomas and him had been assigned to polish all the bric-a-brac His Lordship had collected over the years. Jimmy had cleaned off the miniature picture frames. Thomas dusted a snuffbox. He was shaking his head, but Jimmy saw him smile. When he finished putting all the snuffboxes back in place, he turned to Jimmy to put the rings back as well. Jimmy sighed, taking them off his fingers one by one and placing them on the rag Thomas had used to wipe the boxes with. They all came off, leaving his fingers feeling naked. Thomas started shining them slightly, then putting them back in the box. A sickly feeling krept up Jimmy's throat. The seal ring he'd put on his middle finger - not the brightest idea, he now thought - was not budging. He could turn it left and right, but the thing was lodged safely under his knuckle.

"You _are_ joking, aren't you," Thomas whined. Jimmy looked up at his alarmed face.

"It's stuck," he admitted quietly. Thomas grabbed his hand and started twisting, pinching his skin underneath. "Hey, ouch!" Jimmy snatched his hand back.

"Well, _you_ pull it then," Thomas ordered. "It's almost time for luncheon and they'll be wondering where we are if we're late."

Jimmy suddenly felt small, with Thomas talking to him as his superior. It apparently showed on his face, as Thomas drew in a breath and lowered his voice.

"Make it wet, it'll slip right off," he then suggested, much more friendly. He went back to polishing the remaining rings, leaving Jimmy to his fate. Jimmy stared at his hand, wrinkling his nose at the thought of licking a ring His Lordship may have worn, had petted Isis with and God knows what. He tentatively licked underneath the ring, wetting only the base of his finger. The tip of his tongue touched the cold metal. It tasted a little like iron. He wondered if that was normal for a solid gold ring. "Not like-" Thomas finished his sentence with a disapproving sound in the back of his throat before firmly gripping Jimmy's hand again. It took Jimmy a moment to process. Thomas' thumb pressed in the palm of his hand while his fingers held the back of Jimmy's hand in place. He put Jimmy's finger in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he suctioned his mouth around it. His dark eyelashes feathered over his cheekbones. Jimmy's jaw slackened. His breath got caught in his throat as he felt Thomas' tongue wet the skin under the ring. He'd enjoyed it when Thomas had kissed him before, but did this something to him on a different level. It tingled from his fingers to the tips of his toes. It made his eyelids heavy. The ring came off in a matter of seconds, Thomas holding it up triumphantly. His eyes flickered over Jimmy's face, detecting something other than relief. Jimmy swallowed, attempting to get rid of the dry sensation in his mouth.

"We should head down," he then managed. Thomas nodded, running the cloth around the damp ring before putting it back in its case.

Jimmy found himself outside the back door after luncheon, without Thomas. They couldn't keep going everywhere together. People would suspect things. He took a long drag from his cigarette, willing the giddiness in his chest away. This was one of the reasons he'd decided to give Thomas a chance. Thomas wasn't just a friend. He'd call Alfred a friend. Lately they talked, joked. When Alfred and him brushed past each other during dinner, his heart _didn't_ flutter for half an hour though. He _didn't_ need a cigarette to calm himself down. His ears wouldn't still be burning while it was freezing outside. It wasn't snowing for now, but Jimmy was sure they hadn't seen the last of it this winter. At least the hallboys were on their feet again. He wasn't looking forward to shovelling snow again. His hands were freezing, but Jimmy guessed his ears were still bright red. Thomas had been so careful with him, making sure not to overstep any boundaries like he had before. It was driving him crazy. Wondering if Thomas knew how strongly he felt for him, Jimmy suddenly noticed he was tapping the gravel with his right foot. He cleared his throat and stubbed out the cigarette with the tip of his shoe. It would be a long afternoon.

Jimmy flipped through the pages of the book Thomas had lent him. It was poetry, by a man named Pound. He couldn't make much of it. Not even the title. Thomas had bookmarked a page that had a poem about a metro station. Jimmy didn't really see how it was poetry. There was no rhyme, or point for that matter. He would read it again though, he didn't want Thomas to think he didn't appreciate it.

He scanned the lines diagonally as Thomas got ready for bed. He stood bent over, scrubbing his nails. He was very meticulous, as he was in everything he did. Jimmy inspected his own nails, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious. He'd quickly refreshed before heading to Thomas' room. He bit at the nail on his forefinger.

"Don't," Thomas remarked. "Carson hates untidy hands."

Jimmy's head snapped up. He hadn't noticed Thomas was keeping an eye on him. He put his book aside and his hands by his sides. Thomas splashed some water in his face and then dried himself off, mussing his hair as he went. Jimmy sat up impatiently as the taller man put his towel back on the hanger. A smirk played on his lips.

"What are you so jumpy about?" Thomas laughed, sitting down at the edge of the bed, hands curled around the rim of the mattress. He let his head fall back, his lips within Jimmy's reach.

Jimmy watched the dark strands of hair on his forehead. He didn't give in though. He'd been plotting all afternoon and he wasn't about to let it all go to waste.

"Nothin'," he mumbled, a little annoyed that Thomas had apparently seen through him. He pulled his legs up and sat back against the metal bars at the head of the bed. Thomas seemed a little startled at the rejection of his offer, but pulled his feet on the narrow bed as well, getting more comfortable.

"Everything alright?"

He seemed worried. That wasn't part of Jimmy's plan. He had to think of something quick.

"Do you-uh..." _Think. Think._ "Do you miss having Ms O'Brien as a friend?" Jimmy wanted to hit himself. That woman was definitely not going to set the mood he was looking for. Thomas looked a little startled. Also not what he'd been going for.

"Were you so nervous to ask me this?" He raised an eyebrow. Jimmy shrugged. "Do I miss having her as a friend? I guess I do, in a way," he admitted. Again, not what Jimmy had expected. "I wouldn't want to go back, but we had some good times," he went on. Jimmy put his book on the nightstand and took Thomas' left hand. He winced, but kept talking. "She's the reason I came back here, after the war." Jimmy traced the delicate skin with one finger, nodding. Bringing the other man's hand up to his face, he kissed his knuckles. "I don't think I miss anything, not right now," Thomas concluded. Jimmy detected a careful smirk before he cast his eyes down. He ran his lips over the velvety skin his finger had inspected before, only to find it even softer like that. Thomas swallowed audibly. Jimmy traced the edges of the raised skin, twice, thrice. He looked up to see Thomas focused on him.

"Which ones are bothering you?" Jimmy asked matter-of-factly. He carefully held Thomas' fingers, analysing them as if he would be able to see from the outside.

"My- the two small ones," Thomas replied, his eyebrows raised, his forehead creasing. Jimmy had found this was his expression when he felt self-conscious. "And the middle one," he admitted quietly. It was more than half of his hand, not just the two that weren't much use anyway.

Jimmy sighed, lifting the hand, palm towards him now. He straightened out the fingers, kissing them. He brushed his lips over the fingertips, one by one. He looked up when he reached Thomas' middle finger. His lips caressed from the palm upwards. Thomas nodded when he reached the second phalange. He ducked his head, hair falling onto his forehead.

"Look," Jimmy ordered. He let the digit pass his bottom lip and graze his teeth. Thomas flinched as Jimmy's mouth engulfed it. Thomas tasted faintly of soap.

"_Jimmy_-" Thomas batted his eyelids down again. It sounded like warning, but Jimmy didn't care. He remembered how Thomas had made him feel. He would make Thomas feel now. He opened his mouth again, only to suck in Thomas' ring finger. This time, Thomas watched. His lips mimicked Jimmy's, his eyes hooded. The little grey of his irises Jimmy could detect was shining in the dim room. It was panicked, intrigued. It was elating to watch him, clearly unsure what to do with himself. Jimmy loved that he was able to do that.

He felt Thomas' free hand pawing at his thigh, fingers tangling in the fabric of his underpants. Thomas went from passive to active in a matter of seconds. He freed his left hand and grabbed at Jimmy's hair while he replaced his fingers with his tongue. Jimmy felt himself react, his back arching into his touches. They were no longer sweet. They were needy and hungry and greedy. Their teeth smashed into each other, lips getting caught in the middle. Jimmy felt a hand around his neck, suddenly very aware of his own erratic heartbeat. Thomas pulled back slightly, just far enough to get him in focus. Jimmy found himself grinning at the warm breath on his face. He'd been outside just hours ago, and it had been _so_ cold. The stark blue sky too frozen to snow. He was beyond hot now. _This_ was what he'd been going for. Thomas' jaw clenched and unclenched, his hand letting go of the blond man's neck, only so he was able to graze his thumb over his lips.

"_Christ_, Jimmy," he summed up. Jimmy chuckled.

Footsteps in the hallway indicated bedtime for everyone. Thomas immediately snapped back into his tidy self. Jimmy didn't care though. He'd seen what he could do now. Jimmy got the message, grabbed his book and turned to give Thomas a quick kiss before bed. He was caught by surprise when Thomas tugged him against his own body by the strings on his underpants. His nimble fingers dipped just below the waistband, as he deepened what should have been a good night peck. He let go as quickly as he'd grabbed him, leaving Jimmy in a daze. He managed to get back in his own room without bumping into anything. He carefully placed the book on his desk. He didn't understand, but it was important enough for Thomas to share it. Jimmy lifted his feet into his bed and under the blanket, but didn't cover himself from the waist up. He was warm enough. He still felt his heart thudding in his throat, almost in his mouth. He stared into the black of his room. His pants were painfully tight. Jimmy smiled. He was in trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas sat at the breakfast table, highly conscious of his bare hand. _Not today_, he'd thought. He'd woken up on his own, with half an hour left on the alarm. It had been still dark out, but Thomas had felt rested, and somehow very contented. He loved that feeling, rare as it was. With the hallway still quiet as if it were the middle of the night, he had snuck out of his room to run himself a bath. He had bathed, lathered and washed his hair that was still sticky with pomade from the day before. As he'd dried himself off, he'd felt like a different person. One in need of a haircut though. Back in his room, he'd dressed meticulously, made his bed and combed a generous amount of pomade through his hair. For once, how he'd looked in the mirror had been quite agreeable. Clean, tidy, symmetrical. That's when he'd decided not to cover his hand, if only just for half a day.

It felt very different, not to have the leather there to remind him he was in a professional situation, and not the safety of his own room. His hand felt cool against the smooth wood of the table. He'd finished his newspaper by the time everyone started pooling in for breakfast. Jimmy entered with disheveled hair and a deep frown on his forehead. Thomas always wondered where his hair had gone so sun-bleached. The ends were several tones lighter than the roots. Then again, they hadn't seen a lot of sun at all in the past months. Thomas' mind drifted for a moment- Jimmy on a beach somewhere. Or in America, by an outdoor swimming pool. Jimmy slumped down next to him at the table- automatically, like every morning. Thomas poured him a cup of tea, as he did every day. He purposely left his other hand on the table. Jimmy always took a while to wake up properly, he figured it was a remnant of his recent teenage years. Though there had been no time for lazing around when Thomas was young, he knew what it felt like to have go to bed raging with energy, and waking up feeling completely lethargic.

Jimmy thoughtlessly poked Thomas' left hand, as if he were pointing it out to himself. He shot a bright smile upwards but said nothing, instead sipping his tea. Thomas couldn't help but return the smile, even if he returned it to the back of Jimmy's head. Thomas looked up to see where his attention had gone, finding Mrs Hughes enter the hall. Mr Carson followed two steps behind. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume they'd just arrived from a night at their shared cottage. Chairs screeched as everyone got up, and Thomas put both hands on the back of his chair. After they all sat down again, it took a moment- maybe two, before Carson's stern brow lifted.

"Mr Barrow, I do hope you will return upstairs to cover your- _wound, _before you resume your duties," he announced for the whole table, his voice low, but much less stern than his brow. Thomas gave him a nod and looked down at his plate.

"Ah, it's hardly a wound, isn't it- Mr Carson?" The official address came entirely as an afterthought behind the complaint. Carson turned to the blond boy on his right.

"His _scar_ then, James," Carson articulated, talking as if Thomas had left the room. "I prefer it covered in the name of _bienséance," _he added. He then sipped his tea, ending the conversation.

Jimmy stared, without retort. His silence was probably a combination of tiredness and lack of knowledge of French theatre terminology. Mrs Hughes sighed, sympathetic.

"Mr Barrow is _of course_ allowed to leave his hand free on his own time," she consoled, giving Carson her signature side-eye. She then turned her attention to Thomas himself, probably wondering why they hadn't included him in this conversation in the first place. "I'm glad to see it's healed so clean," she smiled, cocking her head slightly. Thomas answered her smile. She was a kind woman. He sometimes wondered if he should confide in her._ I love him, Mrs Hughes, _he thought. _I think he might love me too, some day. But not yet. I want to do unspeakable things to him, _he then added subconsciously_. _Thomas sighed and shifted in his chair, casting his eyes down. That wouldn't do. If he were ever to confide in someone, it would be her, but he'd have to calm himself down first. He willed some of the unspeakable things to the back of his mind and swallowed them down with a gulp of tea.

By lunchtime, Thomas had put his half glove in the pocket of his livery. It was his half-day. _Their_ half-day. It wasn't often that their schedules lined up. It was also rare that Thomas welcomed the grey, snow-filled sky. No one would blame them if they decided to spend most, if not all of their time off inside. Jimmy had apparently been sent up as well in the name of bienséance, because he came down for lunch with all his hair combed back in one smooth wave. Carson hated it when things were out of place. As if the family would notice if the man who stood at the door during breakfast had- _horror oh horror_- only ran a comb through his hair once today. He wore a tweed suit, indicating that he planned on going out, snow or not. Thomas knew that if Jimmy had his mind set on something, it would happen. He had said he could never give Thomas what he wanted. But he tried. And if that trying meant he was to try out a new sexual orientation, then so be it. Little over-achiever.

They did go out. Thomas found himself halfway down the road to the village when he realised he'd done it again. The road was icy and deserted, and so Jimmy had looped his arm through Thomas'. Thomas had both gloved hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked down to find Jimmy looking up, and gave him one of his toothiest smiles. When Jimmy was seemingly pleased about their current situation, he turned his nose to the front again, falling into a step that was awfully close to skipping. He needed more steps, since his legs were a little shorter than Thomas'. Thomas couldn't help but smile dumbly. It was very out of character for him to be so careless. Then again, everything in relation to Jimmy and him was out of character. First of all, there was Jimmy. He should have been too young, too showy, too obviously beautiful, and not nearly troubled enough for Thomas' taste. That first moment he'd walked into the room had blown him away. He'd brought an air with him that had inebriated Thomas completely. Jimmy was one of those people that depended on their looks. Thomas was unable to explain how else he'd gotten this position, in a big house, with only one previous assignment and_ that_ attitude. It was so easy for Thomas to love him though.

Jimmy basically walked him into the village and into a pub. The place was pretty deserted, apart from a handful of men that seemed to have grown stuck to the bar. Thomas sat down and Jimmy soon joined him with two mugs of mulled wine. Thomas usually hated the sickly sweet smell, but it suited the occasion. After putting the mugs down, he stroked a cold finger over Thomas' hand. It was less of a poke than at breakfast, and it was accompanied by a proud smile this time.

Jimmy then blew in the mug, wrapping his fingers around it. His nose and lips were a deep red. Thomas wanted to take him back to his room instantly, but that would mean going back through the cold so he took a sip of his wine.

"It's very early to be drinking, isn't it?"

"It's not hard liquor," Jimmy shrugged.

"So it's beer and wine from noon and then the harder stuff around three," Thomas offered. "Noted." Jimmy laughed wholeheartedly and took a big gulp. The wine left a purple stain on his lips. Thomas loved watching him. He loved watching his face, registering the little twitches and smiles. The wrinkles around his eyes, and the lines that traced from his nose to his lips. They would look harsh on anyone's face, but never on Jimmy's. He sometimes wondered why Jimmy was the one that hit him so hard, but not today. Today he knew.

"Can we read again, later?"

It wasn't as much a question as it was a confirmation. Of course they would read together.

Thomas had given up on reading his Joyce for the afternoon. It was a little too racy to be reading with company. Also, the letters had started swimming over the page, a result of the three mugs of mulled wine. Thomas felt a little sick to his stomach, the spices didn't sit well with him.

Thomas loved to watch Jimmy 'read'. He peered over the edge of his book to see Jimmy study the tattered magazine. He had a serious frown on his forehead, and a concentrated pout on his lips. Jimmy's toe had been catching in the edge of his underpants for what seemed like half an hour now, but Thomas didn't budge. He didn't only feel safer when Jimmy initiated, he also enjoyed it. Jimmy turned the magazine a quarter, tilting his head in the same motion. Thomas suppressed a snort. Jimmy's eyes lifted from the page- the pout stayed.

"What?" Thomas shook his head. _"What?!" _Jimmy dropped his magazine next to the bed and sat up, slapping Thomas' thigh. When Thomas still didn't reply, Jimmy snatched the book from his hands and straddled him at the waist. He leaned in to Thomas, apparently in an attempt to look threatening. It ended up looking about as threatening as a young ram. Thomas uttered a breathy laugh and let one finger trace down from Jimmy's nose to the corner of his mouth. He repeated it on the other side. Jimmy wrinkled his nose.

"You smile too much," Thomas then shrugged, as if it was a medical explanation to the creases in the other man's face.

"You don't smile enough," Jimmy retorted, sitting up again. Thomas' chest should have probably felt heavy with an adult sitting on top of him. Instead, he smiled, baring his teeth. Jimmy leaned in, promptly planting a sloppy kiss on Thomas' mouth. It still managed to make his head spin. It tasted like smoke and cloves, which was a surprisingly good combination. Thomas tilted his chin up and parted his lips, allowing Jimmy to take the kiss as far as he pleased. Which was very far, apparently. With his calves on either side of Thomas' waist, he locked him in place. He curled himself over Thomas and tousled his hair with all ten fingers. Thomas loved how he did everything so completely, and without looking back.

Pleased with himself, Jimmy sat back and smiled, before swinging his right leg back over Thomas. He flopped down by Thomas' side. Thomas realised in a haze that if he was feeling a little buzzed, Jimmy was probably downright drunk. Thomas had at least 15 pounds on him. The height versus weight calculations fled his mind when Jimmy nuzzled in his neck, still half on top of him. It confirmed Thomas' theory though. Jimmy continued planting messy kisses down his jaw until he reached his ear, biting down on the earlobe.

"Ow!" Thomas hissed. His right arm was trapped under Jimmy.

"Shh," Jimmy laughed. Thomas double-checked whether he'd put the bolt on his door. He had.

Jimmy tugged at Thomas' undershirt. First at the buttons, then the hem. It struck Thomas how intimate this was. Not hurried, or improvised. It seemed like Jimmy had been planning this. Loosening them both up with some light alcohol, just enough so they would both be warm and fuzzy, and - in Jimmy's case - grabby. It seemed like he was trying to get Thomas' undershirt off, but when that didn't work, he had to turn his attention elsewhere. Thomas gasped when his hand slipped past the waistband of his underpants without hesitation. A muffled laugh came from Jimmy, almost a giggle. Thomas allowed his eyes to fall shut when Jimmy stroked down his hip and grazed his cock in the same motion. A high-pitched sound escaped his throat, before it turned into a low groan. He felt his blood pool in the pit of his stomach and let out a shaky sigh. He fought the alarmed sensation in his chest. Jimmy's curious fingers became more insistent, as if they were trying to help Thomas get rid of his last grain of hesitation. Jimmy was doing this voluntarily. Jimmy liked him. Jimmy would not call the police on him. Thomas felt himself twitch against the palm of Jimmy's hand. He was beyond the point of embarrassment though. Jimmy closed his fist around his erection.

"_Fuck_," Thomas hissed. It had been a while since he had to resort to this kind of vocabulary, but he couldn't think of a better word. He glanced down, only finding the suggestion of what he felt. Jimmy's hand disappeared under the cotton of Thomas' pants, his thigh hanging over Thomas', and both their feet covered by the heavy blanket at the end of the bed. Thomas tensed as Jimmy tightened his grip and started to stroke him leisurely.

"Like I do it to myself," Jimmy muttered against the skin of his neck. Thomas shivered at the thought. He tried to reach over with his left hand, but got no further than the other man's bare abdomen.

Jimmy stroked his cock quickly, only to then slow down again. Thomas' hand searched Jimmy's waistband, but Jimmy didn't budge. This was _not_ for Jimmy. This was for Thomas to enjoy. And he did. For the first time in as long as he could remember, no one expected him to reciprocate, even if he more than wanted to.

Thomas let his head sink further into the pillow as he dug his heels in the mattress. He felt like he was close, bracing himself, but Jimmy's drunken clumsy hands dragged out the sensation.

"Please," Thomas managed, his hips raising to meet Jimmy's hand over and over. Jimmy's answer came in a hum. It sounded questioning, as if he needed a little more convincing to give Thomas what he wanted. "Jimmy, please," Thomas repeated, his voice coming out coarse and strangled. Jimmy's hold intensified at the last request. His finger stroked Thomas in a fast, regular motion, forming a tight ring when they reached the tip. Thomas allowed a moan to escape his throat.

At this point, Thomas wouldn't care if Carson came in. He wouldn't be able to fire them because he would be to shocked to put what he'd seen into words for His Lordship. And if they did get fired over it- _God_, it would be worth it.

Thomas felt his breathing speed up, his heart beating five, six times with each rising and falling of his chest. His legs ached more with each flick of Jimmy's wrist.

"Like this?" There was a smile in Jimmy's voice. He _knew_- exactly like this. The words were followed by a series of kisses, back up Thomas' jaw. Thomas' breath hitched in his throat, Jimmy still stroking him relentlessly. His feet kicked at the blanket, the cold air hitting his shins. His hips bucked up involuntarily as all the blood in his body seemed to drain to one central spot in his body. The inside of his eyelids showed him bright white as he came over Jimmy's stilling hand and his own abdomen. He heard himself moan, although it could have been Jimmy, satisfied with his own work.

It was definitely Jimmy's chuckle that dragged him back into the real world, emphasis on _dragging_. Thomas' legs felt like lead, and he wouldn't have been able to lift his arms if his life depended on it. It didn't help that Jimmy was still lying in his right arm and about a third of his body. His heart was light though, lighter than it had been in ages.

Jimmy wiped his hand on Thomas' undershirt. Thomas made a mental note to wash it after dinner. Jimmy wriggled his legs to get the blanket back over their thighs, before planting another kiss on Thomas' hair.

"We'll sleep through dinner like this," Thomas muttered, barely louder than a whisper. There was no answer. He felt himself drift away with the other man's steady breath against his skin. Thomas was suddenly very sure that it wasn't just _someone _he'd been looking for. It was _this one- _the one that made him so comfortable when he reallyshouldn't have been on the narrow mattress, with a man half on top of him, his arm half asleep, and his legs half covered.


	7. Chapter 7

The horseshoe-shaped puddles on the path had frozen over, and Jimmy made sure each and every icy patch cracked under his soles. It was childish maybe, but he was alone. He sniffed the cold air so deep his nostrils hurt. He loved the scent of pines in the garden. It reminded him of summers as a little boy. It was basically all he remembered as well. Running around in the woods mindlessly, the smell of pine sap, and his burned nose in the evening. His nose wouldn't burn today. He'd sooner lose it to frostbite.

Jimmy walked slowly, without a real destination. He got a half day off, Thomas did not. It was alright though. He needed some time to think. For the last couple of days, he was afraid he'd done something wrong being so intemperate. Thomas hadn't mentioned the whole thing, not even one word. He'd just wanted to break the ice, and still thought he'd done so successfully. After all, Thomas wasn't distant. He was just- the same.

Jimmy let the ice crunch under his feet some more. He enjoyed just walking around on the estate for a while, with no real purpose. Thomas preferred things to have a reason. He always needed to know where they were going. How long it would take them, what they would do there. Jimmy found he was going to the Drewe farm, apparently. He could see the pig pen, but there were no pigs in it. They'd have been pig icicles by now. Jimmy grinned at his own dumb joke and took off his cap. Someone would be home, and they'd surely have a cup of tea for him. The pale brick walls seemed impossibly old. He knocked on the equally old door. It took a while before there was any sound inside, but then the door opened and he stared into Mr Drewe's smiling face.

"Jimmy," he beamed, not surprised at all. People on the estate were familiar with Jimmy's wanderings. The Drewes were probably the most familiar with them, since the way to their farm was the easiest to remember. Jimmy had made it a sort of hobby to visit all the farms and lodgings at least once since he came to the house. He wouldn't admit it to many people, but he was quite proud to be working at 'the big house'. And people always seemed pleased to have him over. "Come in, you must be freezing." He made way and let Jimmy walk past him. The warmth that hung under the low ceiling immediately enveloped him.

He walked into the living room, and took off his coat, hanging it on the back of a chair.

"Fancy a cup of tea?"

Jimmy nodded. The cup of tea was in front of his nose faster than would ever be possible at the abbey. Drewe's kettle was always on the stove, and there were no frills attached. He was only offered sugar, as he preferred.

"Haven't seen you in a while, the kids will be disappointed they've missed your visit," Timothy started. It struck Jimmy that it _had_ been a while. His unwilling walking partner could be blamed for that. It was a pity that the kids weren't there, Jimmy enjoyed showing them card tricks. He looked around. The place was warm and tidy. He wouldn't mind living in a place like this on the estate some time. Maybe not alone though.

"Thomas-" he blurted. He felt his ears burn. They were probably red anyways. "It's eh- Mr Barrow. We take walks together lately, and he prefers going into the village for a drink," Jimmy blabbered.

"Mr Barrow," the other man repeated, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Not the most pleasant fellow," he commented. Jimmy took a big gulp of his tea, scalding his tongue.

"_Ah_, it's- he's something else, yeah," Jimmy then decided. He broke into a bright smile that seemed to puzzle Mr Drewe. Then he just shook his head.

"How is little Sybil?" Jimmy was relatively new to the house, and it had taken him a while to understand how respected the family was. In a way, all the people on the estate were extended family. Jimmy never really knew Sybil, but the way they all adored Sybbie said enough about her impeccable reputation.

"Oh, she's a breath of fresh air. Walking, talking, messing with everyone. She loves her little cousin too. Poor bugger," Jimmy replied, noticing how he saw them as family too, like they were _his_ little cousins. He swallowed that thought though. He could get fired or leave, and neither of them would blink an eye.

"I'm sure they love their uncle Jimmy just as much," he assured, apparently intercepting Jimmy's uncertainty. Mr Drewe smiled softly.

An hour later, he was home again. Jimmy had taken his chair into the kitchen, and watched Mrs Patmore prepare dinner. The chair was an obligation; Mrs Patmore no longer wanted him standing over the pots, sticking his fingers in to taste. He'd been distracting Ivy as well, apparently. He sat at the big central table as Daisy cut leeks. She was complaining about summer vegetables and fruits. Jimmy hadn't given it much thought. He usually ate what he was given. At the moment, it was a chunk of black chocolate. Daisy had broken it off a big table she was melting for the chocolate mousse. She'd slipped it to Jimmy to keep him quiet, and it had worked exceptionally well. Not only was his mouth full, the warm taste was slowly lulling him as well.

The thick piece of chocolate had been more than a mouthful, but he'd had to make it disappear quickly. It sat on his tongue, melting slowly. Sometimes he nodded at Daisy, to show he was still listening. She went on about rhubarb and raspberries, and how she craved a crumble. Jimmy nodded again. He liked crumble.

"Jimmy, what's your favourite vegetable?" Daisy's head cocked to the side as she leaned her hand on the table for a moment.

"I like carrots and peas," Jimmy said without thinking too much. The chocolate sat in his cheek until he closed his mouth again. A cackle came from Mrs Patmore. "Wha-?"

"Oh, nothing, Jimmy. I just like simple tastes, is all." She looked over her shoulder for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "What are you eating?"

"It fell on the floor, Mrs Patmore," Daisy interrupted.

Jimmy swallowed what was left over from the chocolate. His mouth was still coated with a bittersweet layer.

"What's wrong with peas and carrots?" Especially Mrs Patmore's peas and carrots were buttery and sweet, and the peas always had a nice snap.

"Nothing, Jimmy," Mrs Patmore repeated. "If only upstairs had your taste, I could put my feet up more often," she laughed. Daisy joined in. Ivy was still whipping eggs, seemingly distracted.

"Talking about taste, what's with you and Mr Barrow all of a sudden?" She looked up. There was a silence from the other two women in the room.

"It's not all of a sudden," Jimmy started. He willed his blood to stay away from his cheeks. It always seemed to rush places it wasn't supposed to when someone mentioned Thomas.

"Thomas is not a bad lad, Ivy," Mrs Patmore mediated. Jimmy smiled.

"He's not very nice to me," Ivy countered.

"Well, are _you_ very nice to _him_?" It was the first time Mrs Patmore actually stopped what she was doing and turned to Ivy, making clear she was having none of it. Ivy went back to whisking her eggs. They'd turned into a white mass by now.

"He's an odd one," she added under her breath.

No one reacted. In Ivy's world, everything was very black and white. Jimmy was glad to find out there were people with more colourful minds.

Jimmy stared at his hand of cards. They hardly ever played for money anymore, mainly because Carson thought it was below them. That didn't mean Jimmy could just let Thomas win though. They usually played alone now. Only Anna would sometimes join in for a hand. Jimmy almost disliked how she could be so _good_, through and through. She didn't care if she won. She didn't boast when she did, didn't sulk when she didn't. Half of the time she didn't even play right, but no one had the heart to tell her. Jimmy looked at the table and the cards Thomas had just put down. Jimmy flung his own after them. Thomas grinned, packed them all together again and shuffled. Jimmy tapped the ash from his cigarette.

"One more hand, then we're going," Anna announced. She had her right hand on the table, her left rested in Bates' palm. It seemed unfair that they could do that, and Jimmy wasn't even allowed to touch the scar on the back of Thomas' hand. He needed it more than they did. But Anna was nice to Thomas, and Bates was too if she was around. Jimmy cast his eyes down when he realised he'd been staring at the Bates' intertwined fingers. He scooped up the cards that had been dealt and watched as Thomas lit another cigarette.

"Losers first," Thomas then muttered between closed lips. Jimmy sighed and shook his head.

Mr Bates looked up from his newspaper every now and then, and seemed to keep an eye on them- on _him_. Anna was an angel, and everyone downstairs (and probably upstairs) knew Thomas didn't exactly pose a threat. So all that was left was Jimmy. He peered at his cards, trying to make sense of the colours and shapes. He was losing again, only because Bates was so damn distracting. Anna wasn't even his type. Jimmy had never had a thing for blondes. He wondered if Thomas did. After all, Jimmy had no idea what his past lovers had looked like. _Lovers_, was that what they were now? Jimmy still thought of Thomas as a friend, but a more special one than the ones he'd had in school.

Anna beamed, carefully placing her cards on the wooden table. Thomas folded, and Jimmy followed.

"Boys, don't look so disappointed," she grinned. Apparently she did have some smugness in her. Thomas gave her a wide smile, one of his real ones. "We're off home then, see you both in the morning." She got up to fetch her coat. Bates stayed where he was.

"Well, I don't about you but I'm knackered," Thomas then sighed as he got up. Jimmy put the deck of cards back in its box. "Night, little duckling."

Jimmy's head snapped up, only to see Thomas halfway through the door already. He felt his face get flaming red, and thanked the architecture of the house. For once, he was glad they were in a dimly lit basement. Jimmy knew he sometimes could pull funny faces when he was concentrated. Especially the lips. He sucked them in and looked up. Bates still sat at the table, two chairs between him and Jimmy. He had a straight face, as usual. His eyes had little creases around them, making it seem like he was always just about to smile. He was a very serious man, and Jimmy always thought him and Anna made a strange pair, but maybe she was the white to his black.

"I'd better be off to bed too," Jimmy sighed. Bates didn't react to Thomas' comment, so maybe he just hadn't heard. Maybe he just saw it as teasing. They joked around a lot.

"I hope you know what you're doing," then came. Jimmy froze. So he _had _heard. A huff escaped Jimmy's lips, but it was ignored. "This is not a joke, not to him." He nodded towards the doorway, the same semi-amused expression on his face. His voice was flat and deep as always. He had a very specific way of talking, like he had all the words organised before they came out. It would explain the intense looks he'd given Jimmy during the card game.

"Is that a threat?" Jimmy blurted. He did _not_ have his words organised before they came out, he decided. More often than not, something useless like this would come out. He knew it made him unpopular.

"Call it a warning," Bates replied evenly. He got up from his chair and grabbed his cane, ready to follow his wife down the hallway. "Good night, Jimmy."

Jimmy sat alone at the table for a while. It made sense. Everyone knew the state Thomas was in just some months ago. And they all knew who was to blame. They were a family, and Jimmy was the latest addition. Another slip and he would be the first to go. It was a little unfair though, he thought. He had the reputation of a flirt; impulsive, shallow, egocentric. He was still all those things, but he also genuinely liked Thomas and he would never hurt him willingly. Not again.

Jimmy sat back in his chair and sighed. His ears and cheeks were still burning unpleasantly. He placed his hands flat on the table and pushed himself up, then left the room. He knocked on Carson's door to tell him everyone had gone up.

Sometimes Jimmy hated being in service. He didn't care about the impossible hours or the hard work, standing through dinner for hours or getting scowled at by Carson. If he could just go _home_ at the end of the day, it would make a huge difference. Instead, he found himself in a long hallway with short doors. It felt like he'd left home and moved into an orphanage. Mindlessly, he opened the door to Thomas' room, but he was greeted with darkness. He took a moment to listen for any signs of someone sleeping, but he only found silence. Jimmy closed the door again and crossed the hall to open his own door. Sure enough, the room was lit. A candle sat on the nightstand. Thomas sat on the bed in his shirtsleeves and pants, reading one of Jimmy's magazines.

"You should really tidy your room, Carson will have a fit if he sees it like this," Thomas hummed, slight amusement trickling into his tone. Jimmy sighed as he closed the door behind him. His tiny desk was overflowing, so he'd piled some things on the floor in front of it. He walked over and screwed the top back on his tin of pomade. The residue made his fingers sticky. "Is something wrong?" Thomas lowered the magazine on his lap. Jimmy recognised an article about a new Western.

Jimmy unbuttoned his shirt as he leaned back against his desk.

"You really shouldn't call me _little duckling," _Jimmy grumbled.

"Alright. Sorry about that."

There was no humour or mocking in his voice. Instead, he held out his arm. Jimmy sighed and walked over to sit down on the edge of his bed. Thomas locked him in with an arm on his lap. Jimmy noticed him scanning his face. He'd always been horrible at hiding anything, so he decided to get it over with.

"I don't think Bates likes me very much."

Thomas snorted. "I think everyone downstairs _loves_ you," he muttered in his own, even tone. He brushed the hairs off of Jimmy's forehead while his other hand firmly rested on his thigh.

"I think everyone downstairs loves _you_," Jimmy retorted. "I know they do."

"I know." Thomas' jaw clenched. It seemed like it physically hurt him to admit someone cared. "What did Bates say?"

"Not to hurt you again," Jimmy summarised simply.

"Were you planning on that?" Thomas' tone as well as his touches were weirdly soothing. Jimmy felt his eyelids get heavy.

"No."

"Then... No need to rack your pretty little head over it any longer."

Jimmy nodded and turned to Thomas. He had a smile again. As simple as that, any hateful feeling Jimmy might have had, was forgotten.

"You are though," Thomas smirked, running the tip of his finger down Jimmy's cupid's bow and over his bottom lip. It made a kissing noise when he let go. Jimmy frowned. "You are my little duckling." He pulled Jimmy in and placed a soft kiss on his lips, the first of the day. Probably not the last.


End file.
